


120 Seconds

by bookjunkiecat



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Challenges, Control, M/M, PWP, Sort Of, Threesome, Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 16:09:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,188
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14060580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookjunkiecat/pseuds/bookjunkiecat
Summary: Mycroft has an impatient lover.





	120 Seconds

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ngaijuuyan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ngaijuuyan/gifts), [Papa_Lazarou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Papa_Lazarou/gifts), [Mottlemoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mottlemoth/gifts).



> Tumblr is directly responsible for this. As are Ngaijuuyan, Mottlemoth & bokkle-oran-doove.
> 
> find me on Tumblr @savvyblunders

          Mycroft’s lover is watching him catch it.

          It is, he must admit, an incredibly erotic sight. Far more so than he had even imagined—and he’d imagined it in depth and at length. Very, very deep and so, so long.

          Mycroft’s moan, deep and heartfelt, causes him to shift in the arm chair. He’s not allowed to touch. Not Mycroft and not himself. This is Mycroft’s time. Mycroft and that damned toy. It is, in its way, exciting, but it’s also maddening. Mycroft’s lover is used to being in control, setting the pace, bringing them both to a screaming climax and having fun while doing it.

          This is not fun. It’s torture.

          Mycroft, alabaster skin glowing in the low light, is filmed in sweat, completely nude as he kneels on the rumpled bed, one hand bracing his swaying body upright as the other slowly, languorously delves his arse with the bright pink dildo.

          Mycroft’s lover is unraveling.

          “Ah…God, yes…” Mycroft arches his back, dexterously swiveling his wrist and thrusting back against the sweet intrusion. “I’m so close…”

          Mycroft’s lover has had enough.

          “Let me get you there, gorgeous.” There aren’t any pesky clothes to remove, and they’re established lovers, so no need for a condom. The chair, positioned for optimal viewing of tonight’s fun, is but steps away from the bed. “Take that thing out.”

          “What?” Mycroft sounds supremely hazy, far slower on the uptake than usual. “No…no, this feels, ah! So good…he’s just g-gliding inside me now, slipping in and out so s-smooth.” He aims a false and petulant pout over his shoulder, which makes his lover want to kiss his adorable pursed lips, just before he takes him. “Tonight is for Jean-Phillipe and I. You’re only supposed to watch.”

          “You’re adorable, pet, you know that?” Unable to resist, his hands glide up Mycroft’s long legs, eliciting shivers and a delicious swaying of that sublime bottom. He cups the plump cheeks, smoothing his thumbs over the freckled skin, smiling at the memory of how Mycroft got those freckles, of their sun and sex filled holiday in Spain, of the nights rubbing aloe into his lover’s tender bottom. Unable to resist, he rubs firm fingers over the end of the slim, flexible toy, delighting in the whimper it earns him. “I’m wildly jealous of Jean-Philippe…he’s been in your life so long….what if you choose him over me?” He leaned in to kiss the irresistible dimple at Mycroft’s sacrum, “I think he might make you forget my name.”

          A soft sigh precedes Mycroft’s words, dripping with a honeyed sting, “Nonsense…Gavin, was it?” His blue eyes gleam naughtily over his shoulder, tongue darting out to smooth over his lips.

          The reward for this snark is a nip to the curve of his buttock, “Greg is my name and I can slip with him.” The easy glide of his fingers into Mycroft’s pretty pink hole bears this out, as Greg is able to easily slip two fingers alongside Jean-Philippe. “Give me five minutes, and leave to turn Jean-Philippe on, and I’ll have us both coming like geysers.”

          Mycroft shudders, bucking back against Greg’s touch, “Five minutes? So much time even with assistance, Inspector?”

          “Minx,” Greg growls, pulling Mycroft smoothly by the hips until his knees are on the edge of the mattress. “I’ll do it in two.” He flashes the cocky grin he knows Mycroft loves, “No hands, keep ‘em on the mattress, posh boy.”

          The first slow push into the warm grip of Mycroft’s body almost sends him over the edge; his control, usually so reliable, has been shattered by watching Mycroft slowly fuck himself. His open-mouthed groan is matched by Mycroft, who tightens around him. “Watch the clock, sweetheart,” Greg said, fingers finding the remote on the bed, “I’m about to take us all apart in one hundred and twenty seconds.”

          “Braggart…!” Mycroft cried out, spine arching, as Greg thumbed on the vibrator inside Jean-Philippe and began to thrust. Mycroft’s slim, elegant fingers clench helplessly in the linens; Greg can imagine how hard it is for him not to be stroking himself right now.

          Holding Mycroft’s hip with one hand, he hooks a finger in the loop at the end of the toy and begins to drag it lightly in and out in counterpoint to his thrusts. It is brilliant. It is maddening. It is going to have him coming in a ridiculously short period of time, damn it. His eyes flick to the clock; another one hundred seconds, give or take. God help him.

          Abandoning his usual low gasps and sighs, Mycroft is moaning loud and filthy. The combination of sound, sensation…it’s too much and Greg feels desperate as he glances at the clock. Seventy-something seconds…he can manage that. God he really, really can.

          “Greg, oh God, fuck…” Mycroft is not even trying to retrain himself, hips pushing eagerly back against Greg’s forceful thrusts, “Fuck me harder!”

          Desperation makes him consider turning the vibrator off or at least down; pride prohibits it. Fuck, there’s at least a minute left. Mycroft has to be closer than he is, for fucks sake, he’s been playing with fucking Jean-Philippe for ages before this.

          The volume at which Mycroft is currently petitioning God should be enough to summon an entire host of celestial beings, but Greg hopes they can stave off ascent to heaven at least until he’s come. His fingers are slipping, trying to hold onto Mycroft’s sweaty hips and the lube and sweat slick loop of the vibrator. Finesse has gone out the window, it’s just blind thrusting now, but _God_ , does it feel glorious. “You close?” He gasps out in hope.

          Whatever language Mycroft responds in is not one Greg speaks (if it is indeed language, he might possibly be having a stroke, considering how he’s shaking and flailing and given the redness of his face). “C’mon, gorgeous, come for me, I want to feel you shake around me when I come.” Greg has no time to wipe sweat from his face, so he blinks fiercely and shakes his head. Fuck…what time is it? Does he have half a minute left or less?

          Desperate times…he manages to snag the remote, shoves the wheel up to the highest setting and his vision nearly whites out as the vibrations blast through his groin. Christ, Mycroft may not make it out of this alive.

          A hoarse, raw scream seems to give his worry weight, and with a series of jerks and shudders, Mycroft climaxes so hard Greg can feel his passage tightening like a fist around him. It’s all he needs to give in, and pressing as deep as he can, Greg digs his fingers into Mycroft’s hips and floods him, black spots dancing in his vision. The clock is forgotten, the challenge abandoned, as he gives into pure sensation.

          At some point after they have both recovered enough to inchworm their way up the bed and collapse, Mycroft raises a sleepy head from Greg’s shoulder, “Do you admit that Jean-Philippe has his uses?”

          “Shush,” says Mycroft’s lover. “I’m savoring my victory.”


End file.
